


Our Fates are Devious by Heart

by nerakrose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, first order of the phoenix, first wizarding war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus and Sirius escape to Paris during the first war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Fates are Devious by Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to inside_the_veil, my wonderful beta and wife, for helping me sort out this modernistic hell of a mess. I’m afraid it’s still modernistic, but hopefully it’s less of a mess. I will not apologise for the angst, but please bear with the metaphors; it’s not their fault they are there. Please don’t hurt them.
> 
> Written for shaggydog_swap and posted [here](http://shaggydog-swap.livejournal.com/19174.html).
> 
> .pdf available [here](http://nerakrose-ficarchive.dreamwidth.org/70098.html).

Remus wonders if it is possible to feel the world turning, if it is possible to sense the movement as the world spins, endlessly, as time passes, infinitely. In this moment, he thinks it may be, he thinks he can feel the slow pull as the Earth turns, much like a sleepy lover tangled up in sheets.

Or maybe it is just that Remus has drunk too much and the pull he is feeling is gravity.

He doesn’t think so; tonight he feels connected, he feels the vibrations of the world, the soft allure of Earth and the atmosphere weighing upon them, sighing softly. Remus wonders how long the atmosphere and the earth have been lovers. Long enough to be comfortable with each other, he thinks, and the wind caresses his face. It is a slow dance, one not without hurdles, but ultimately, very deeply intertwined and dependent.

Steps sound behind him and the scent of Sirius swirls through the air. Remus can sense him, smell him, he knows exactly where he is. He wonders if it’s the same for the earth, if the earth always knows where his lover is and is able to respond accordingly.

Sirius’ hand connects with Remus’ shoulder and there is a soft murmur behind him. The connection feels eternal, electrical, and warm. Yes, he thinks, Earth knows. And he gazes at the stars, the stars he can’t see but knows are there, behind the illuminated sky. He imagines he can see them travel across the hemisphere, along the same old trails as always.

Is that what they’re doing? Travelling, yet not, escaping, yet not, searching and not finding? Remus sometimes wonders if Sirius would simply fly away, disintegrate into pure air and cease to be but in spirit. And Remus too would have to dematerialise, merge with the mould and forever attempt to reach into the sky.

For that is their difference, he knows. He stares intently at the sky, searching out the stars he knows are there. Sirius doesn’t move behind him, but Remus knows he’s looking too, searching the same. It’s why they came here, he thinks, they came to find something in themselves. Sirius thinks they’ve found it, but they haven’t left yet, so Remus knows it’s just a front. They’re still here because they’re still searching.

Or perhaps they’re running.

Sirius wraps his arms around Remus and whispers words of wonder and Remus indulges him.

He wonders, he wonders about so many things. Wonders when they’ll part, because it will happen. He knows it. Sirius will fly away and Remus will become grounded forever.

The pull is still there, the world is still moving. It’s a sleeping world, ridden by nightmares and dreams alike, and Remus hopes that tonight is a dream.

Soft lips find his neck and Remus closes his eyes.

The air is cold, but he’s warm, warm enough to engulf the entire universe, warm enough to swallow the world and keep it within. He doesn’t say this, but he knows it. Sirius knows it too, he seeks the warmth and touches him softly, and Remus wonders what would happen if he engulfed Sirius.

Maybe Sirius won’t fly away if he swallows him, and Remus thinks about Jonah in the whale’s stomach and the nightingale in the gilded cage and the wolves in zoo, and he knows he can’t do it.

He shares his warmth with him, lets him taste it, feel it. He lets him own it for a while and then he takes it back.

Sirius has his own warmth, but it is fleeting and incredibly hard to summon. It makes Remus think of hot autumn winds, rare and glowing, and burning deserts, and it makes him think of December rain, cold and unforgiving.

It is the curse of the airborne, Remus thinks as he lets Sirius embrace him. It is their curse to be volatile and transient, to be insecure and dominant, to want to be loved unconditionally.

Remus loves him unconditionally, of course; it is his curse.

The grounded seek fiery love and find it in destruction, they seek affirmation, declarations, loyalty. And they find it in the grand gestures of the air, its temper and its sorrow. For that is their true curse, he thinks, to be forced to love someone so flighty, someone given to outbursts and tantrums, only to find them return, time after time, and seek forgiveness.

And isn’t it the curse of the airborne to love the grounded, those who calmly love them without questions and entrust them with their love, forever drawing them to the earth, attempting to keep them moored?

It is a match and yet not, Remus thinks and threads his fingers with Sirius’. Their love is whole and their love is destructive; their love is a neverending cycle. After them, there will be others and before them, there were others.

Remus closes his eyes. Tonight is a dream, he thinks, for everything is calm. The lights of the city glow on his face and fill him with an intense joy. He goes inside with Sirius, where the lights are stripes on the walls and the bedsheets form small mountains on the bed.

It is their relationship, Remus thinks, as he looks at the duvet mountains and valleys and their shadows on the floor. They say art imitates life, but sometimes, life imitates art, or life is simply life.

Sirius is hasty and flurry, but his touches are soft and warm, and Remus loves him. They lie together on the bed, sweat cooling on their brows and cum trickling into the sheets. Sirius looks at him, a question of wonder and accusation.

I’m merging, Remus thinks and looks away. He’s disintegrating and I’m merging.

He shudders, but doesn’t say anything. Sirius is on his feet again, agitated, arms flailing, and it takes a while before Remus realises Sirius is speaking, spouting words of fear and hate and anger, helplessness and love. He is talking about the war, but Remus doesn’t want to hear about the war, not when the night is a dream.

Nightmares don’t belong here, not in this room. He gets up and goes outside to look at the lights. Maybe he should engulf everything, he thinks. Maybe it would make everything go away, for a while.

Maybe it would make him forget that this too is going to end, that this is but another step towards the end, a step towards the inevitable parting, the inevitable pain and endless sorrow that fate has in store for them.

For a moment Remus is bitter, for a moment he hates the world, hates Earth and his lover, hates himself and his lover. He hates with every fibre in his body and he grows cold. Not as cold as Sirius, who is in his monsoon mood, intent on drenching everything with all he’s got until they’ve had enough, too much, and he will retreat until he is missed, and then...

Remus sighs and goes back inside, back to Sirius, and he contains him. He kisses him and he filters his fingers in his tangled hair and he almost engulfs him, almost but not quite.

It is no one’s fault, he thinks as he kisses Sirius’ neck and his hand slides round to cup his arse. It is no one’s fault that they are who they are, that they are cursed, that they have to live with each other and the world. But they love, they are so full of love...

Sirius is hasty, always hasty, as if he’s afraid Remus will be snatched away with the wind and Remus wants to tell him it’s impossible. Sirius is the only wind that can move him, because Remus is a rock, he is the ground, he can’t shake himself loose until Sirius does it for him, and for that he loves him.

It is a constant struggle, even when the night is a dream. Remus sighs and Sirius sighs and they understand each other, even as the world moves and their paths go on. Because it is no one’s fault, it is how it is and they go along with it, beating down the same trail that goes the same direction as always.

Remus grounds him, for the moment, and marvels at his body, at his trembling want. In these moments Sirius is part of him and Remus is part of Sirius, he feels flighty and lofty and disconnected with his self. It is exhilarating and painful, but such is love and it is addictive.

He never feels the pull when he is with Sirius like this but he wonders if Sirius does, if he is as frightened by the pull as Remus is by the lack of it. He never asks directly. He licks his cock, he touches him, wondering how strong the pull is.

It is gravity which finally brings him back, and he closes his eyes with relief, even as he knows that gravity has released Sirius. In their right places, they are one, for Earth cannot exist without its atmosphere, and the atmosphere were nothing if it hadn’t an earth to envelope.

And so Sirius pulls Remus into his arms and they are the world they live in. They own it and they own each other and they know it.

The connection is flimsy, but tonight they are clinging to it, pretending that it isn’t, pretending that they aren’t cursed, pretending that soon they won’t cease to be. It is a strange life to lead, Remus thinks, to have this connection.

They have tastes of each other, moments of hazy feelings and a very clear sense of rightness. It is this rightness that makes sense, he thinks, because without the rightness, they would have nothing. Still, they go on destroying each other, claiming pieces of the other until, one day, there will be nothing left at all, and they will be intertwined in eternity and spirit and at the same time, cruelly disconnected.

They won’t have anything, he thinks, gazing at the sky through the open balcony door, the starless, orange sky of Paris. Remus wonders how long eternity is. He wonders whether it hurts.

Looking at Sirius, who is also looking at the sky, he knows it hurts. Eternity will hurt them more than their current state of being, for in eternity they are not the earth or the air, in eternity they are nothing, and Remus can’t imagine anything more painful.

Cold air wafts in through the balcony door, but Remus doesn’t care. He feels warm enough for both of them. Sirius feels the cold, he knows, because Sirius is coldness, sometimes, it’s in his blood.

He drags him into the shower, which is hot and steamy and very much like Sirius, who smiles and touches him. The heat makes him languorous, and Remus surrenders to the rain-filled cloud that is Sirius and his caresses, but he stays grounded and Sirius stays airborne, and this time they both know it.

The water washes their love away and Remus leans into Sirius, staying in the cocoon that is the warm water and slippery tiles, and Sirius lets him.

They are tired, tired of running and searching and finding nothing. Remus knows they won’t find anything, least of all each other, because they are here. Close and yet not, tangible and yet not. It makes no sense, he thinks, but that’s how it is and that’s how they’ve always been. Coming here was fruitless.

Remus leaves the shower and gets dressed. He knows Sirius stayed in, knows the hotel room is too cold now and he thinks about closing the balcony door, but he doesn’t. Instead he puts on his coat and goes outside.

They’re high up and Remus feels the vibrations and allure of the earth beneath him, travelling up his legs and his spine. The air is crisp and the city is alive, perhaps more alive than he and Sirius will be in a week.

Sirius joins him, standing quietly behind him. He doesn’t speak, but Remus knows what he’s saying.

It’s time to go home, he is saying, it is time to stop searching, for you are right here. It’s time to join the battle again, time to face our fates.

He is right, of course, but they remain silent for five more minutes, pretending that they don’t have to.


End file.
